Under Your Clothes
by sketchyheart
Summary: It was a careful balance, constructed for himself. It was a pattern that Jean loved to witness... (JeanRoy, slight spoils)


...-cough- Completely random. Doesn't make a lot of sense... I don't really care about that though. Slight spoilers for 25, Jean and Roy. Yea. I apologize for the crappiness of it all :D

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The uniform was on, thick navy cloth confining and keeping him in line. He a superior then, and had to act as such. Cool stares, stern voice, the occasional wicked grin if something pleased him. Finger's ready to snap at a half moment's notice if the need ever arose. A man that surely no one wanted to cross.

The heavy uniform jacket was tossed aside neatly, the heaviest burdens of the title along with it. Those harsh eyes lost a good deal of their edge, the hard line of a smirk softened into a small smile. The gloves were gone, leaving surprisingly smooth hands pulling at the collar of his dress shirt. There was still formality there, a flicker of a reminder. He might have been at ease, but the reason to keep him tame was still there.

And then the dress shirt was haphazardly flung against the jacket, leaving just the naked smile and warm eyes. The change was extravagant to think about. Lethal to playful in a matter of a few articles of clothing.

It was a pattern that Jean loved to witness, the scowl to the smile that rivaled his own at night. It was so totally unexpected, so totally unheard of, Roy Mustang being anything but his cool, collected, professional image. It was something Jean felt touched to be able to witness, to be able to help in the cause of such an unheard image. At this time the blonde could kiss the shorter male's neck, and they would end up a content tangle of limbs and happy sighs before the end of the night.

The professional guise had always been in place to protect the colonel's emotions. He had long ago learned to keep them in check, not to let anyone see them while in the dignified uniform. It was a careful balance, staying calm until he could let himself go later on. Seeing the careful balance of personalities toppled over always tore the optimistic blonde soldier apart. It always meant that things had changed for the worst, that even the normally stable Roy Mustang was on the edge, and that it was reflecting at all times of his waking hours. It had happened during the first war when Havoc had been an idiot and gotten himself hurt. Roy had ended up falling into a moody fit until Jean had healed, and only then would the dark haired alchemist smile for the blonde again.

There were no words to express the silent agony that fell between them when Maes had moved on. It took an excruciatingly long time to repair the damage done.

Jean would watch Roy's face at night, and see the repaired smile dim at times, dipping into the smallest of frowns from time to time. So the wound was never completely healed. His fingers would trace over the diminished smile, and Jean would let himself drift off against his lover.

He hated seeing the balance knocked. He hated being the one toppling it even more.

"They've called me out." He had whispered the words one night, into the darkness of the room. Emotions stilled, and Jean heard the sharp intake of breath, felt the tightening grip of Roy's arms around his waist.

"I didn't know about this."

"I took the notice before Hawkeye gave you the papers. Felt I should tell you myself."

Another squeeze, and Roy's face was pressed against Jean's chest. "I see."

Havoc's hand gently ran through the dark strands, fond tenderness in his eyes. "You can bitch me out later."

Dark eyes stared him down, fond concern brimming in them. "Shut up."

Havoc knew that Roy was going to be moody. He felt sorry for the men back in the office. The blue sky overhead reflected the calm blue of Jean's eyes, the wind rustling the spikes of his hair, the screams of bullets jolting his body alive. His finger was on the trigger, and there was release.

He hated seeing Roy's face betraying his pain. He hated being the cause of it even more.

Hawkeye was silent when she handed the forms to Mustang. He gave her a questioning gaze, letting his eyes skim over the documents in his hand. His hands moved to the envelope first, neatly thumbing it open.

_I miss you._

The very faint flicker of a grin tugged on his lips, and he looked at the other page. Hawkeye lowered her eyes to the floor as her superior's swept across the page at an alarming rate. They glanced up at her, daring not to believe it, and she could only lower her head. "Sir," she said quietly, turning and leaving him alone.

The paper fell from his hands on the desk as the moved to hold his head, tears falling against Jean Havoc's name and record of death as he openly wept, the balance ripped in two.


End file.
